“Oh, yeah. Those are my best friends, Willow and Brielle.” I giggle lightly, attempting to move closer to him and press myhand against his shirt again. “They’re just shocked to see me flirting with you. It’s their first time at Tropez Dali.” I say it as if it wasn’t my first time as well.
I watch his eyes narrow, and my heart races as he looks them over, then looks back at me.
“Is this their first time to a nightclub—ever?” he asks in a skeptical tone as he takes them in.
I see what he sees. Two teenagers, dressed up with perfect makeup, but wide-eyed and innocent. Fuck!
“Are you guys twenty-one?” His eyes narrow as he presses his lips together.
The way he surveys me doesn’t feel as sexy now. I feel naked, like he’s seeing me for who I am—and who I am is not someone he likes and wants to be with.
“Of course.” I laugh nervously, running my fingers through my hair.
“Can I see your ID?” he says in a low tone, like it’s not a request.
I hand him my ID slowly and obediently and flutter my lashes. I wait for him to hand it back so we can resume our flirting. Instead, he bursts out laughing, and my heart sinks. I knew it was a long shot that he’d think my ID was real, but I hoped he wouldn’t look too carefully.
“Thirty-eight?” He shakes his head. “Really? Agnes?”
I grimace and snatch the ID back from him.
“How old are you, really?” His eyes narrow.
“Why?” I pout. “I might not be thirty-eight yet, but …”
“You mean you’re not thirty-eight,Agnes?” He stresses the name again, and I try not to roll my eyes.
“Does it matter how old I am if we’re both interested?”
“It matters,” he snaps.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t eat minors,” he says, and my face flushes.
“I’m not a minor! I’m … I’m eighteen-ish.” My voice trails off. I already know this isn’t going to go well.
“Ish?” He raises his eyebrows.
“In two months, I’ll be eighteen. Big deal.”
“Oh, hell no.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, Agnes, but this is a no-go.”
“But—” My lips tremble.
I don’t want to argue with him, but I cannot lose out on him. He’s the perfect man to be my first.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man, and I like women, not little girls.” He points over to the two guys he was standing with, who are a little farther away from us now. “I have my younger brother here though, and he’s around your age.” In fact, he nods to the side toward the guys who have at some point moved forward. “He’s right here.”
“But I?—”
He takes a step back. “Sorry, Agnes. It’s a no.”
“My name’s Katherine,” I say, feeling strangely deflated and torn.
He shrugs like my real name means nothing. I can’t believe we’ve gone from one hundred to zero in less than ten minutes. His brother and friend step over and give me warm smiles.
“Katherine, this is my brother, Zac. He’s nineteen, much more age-appropriate for you. That’s his best friend, Tristan. Zac and Tristan, this is my new friend, Agnes, who sometimes goes by Katherine.”
